


Who Really Cares?

by teenage_hustler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 16:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenage_hustler/pseuds/teenage_hustler
Summary: Draco has to complete a report for the Minister of Magic, but in order to do that he needs information from a certain someone that he has been avoiding for years.This was originally written for the 2009 Dramione Duet exchange on Livejournal. A couple of my personal fanfic tropes crop up here. Wall!kissing, ending with a kiss, date night ending in sex... this is also one of several fics where an unrealistically hot Hermione plays a part. Or maybe I just think Hermione is hotter than most people think she is? Who knows?





	Who Really Cares?

~*~

Draco reached his final destination and ran an irritated hand through his fine blonde hair. He couldn’t believe that it had come to this.

When Minister Shacklebolt had approached him almost two months ago and asked him to compile a detailed report on the operations of major British Wizarding institutions, Draco knew he was going to have to call in a few favours. Five years of unexpected post-war friendship with Neville Longbottom had proven a great asset for accessing the Hogwarts files. Pansy Parkinson had revelled in being able to provide him with information on the inner workings of the Daily Prophet offices. His still somewhat hostile relationship with Harry Potter had never-the-less been helpful for gaining reports on Azkaban.

The only place Draco had left to approach was St Mungo’s. He had been studiously avoiding the Wizarding hospital since he had been given the assignment, under the hope that Shacklebolt would overlook it when Draco provided him with a draft of his report that morning.

No such luck. And of course there wouldn’t be. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the Minister of Magic for seven years and nobody had known him to ever overlook anything. The first thing he said to Draco upon finishing reading his draft was “Great, except you haven’t done St Mungo’s yet.”

“Oh,” Draco said, silently cursing the world for its cruelty. Why couldn’t he have been given this one? “I apologise, sir. I must have overlooked it.”

“I see,” said Shacklebolt, “Although I’m hard pressed to figure out how a person could remember to report on the Quidditch League, the Owl Post service and the National Gobstones Organisation, and yet forget one of the most important institutions in the Wizarding world.”

“I … had a lapse in … thinking,” Draco mumbled feebly.

“Hmm.” Shacklebolt clearly wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t reprimanding Draco either, so Draco had to presume that he wasn’t in trouble.

“I have to confess,” Shacklebolt continued, “I already knew you hadn’t yet approached St Mungo’s.”

“Really, sir? How did you discover this?”

“I owled a young friend of mine yesterday and asked her if you had made an appearance. She said that you had not, and since she knows everything about the inner workings of St Mungo’s I decided to assist you by arranging for you to meet her this afternoon.”

“Thank you sir. Do I know this friend of yours?” Draco asked. He didn’t know why he’d bothered asking, because he knew what the answer would be. Draco’s discomfort toward’s St Mungo’s was based on his acquaintance with one junior Healer there, and he knew that the world hated him too much for the name about to come out of Shacklebolt’s mouth to be that of anybody else.

Sure enough, “I imagine so. She’s fairly well known, after all. It’s Hermione Granger.”

So now Draco was standing in front of Healer Granger’s tiny office, working up the courage to knock on the door.

His fist was poised, ready to proceed, when the door suddenly flew open and Draco found himself caught in the vibrant red hair of someone backing out of the office.

“Ahh!” the redhead yelped, trying to bat Draco away from her and nearly poking his eye out in the process.

“Ow!” Draco took a huge step back. The redhead turned and, upon realising who it was, gaped at him.

“Draco?” she gasped, quickly shutting the office door. “What in Merlin’s name are YOU doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question, She-Weasel,” Draco whispered back. “Shacklebolt’s requested that I meet with Granger.”

“Really?” Ginny Potter raised her eyebrows in what was clearly amusement, much to Draco’s annoyance. “You must have loved that.”

“I’m over the moon about it,” Draco said sarcastically. “Clear off so I can get this over with.”

“Do I have to?” Ginny asked. “Because watching this would absolutely make my day.”

“Yes, well, right now punching you in the face would absolutely make _my_  day, but see how I’m resisting. This is what good friends do.”

“I keep telling you that I am a friend. I’ve never said anything about being a good friend.” When Draco and Harry had become … friends was perhaps too strong a word, Draco and Ginny had, by force, begun to spend more time together. And to everybody’s surprise, especially theirs, they had really hit it off. Ginny found Draco’s bluntness and cynicism nothing short of hilarious, and Draco derived great comfort from Ginny’s good nature and slightly warped sense of humour. Nowadays the two of them were good and not remotely hostile friends, and as a result of that Ginny was the only person who knew exactly why Draco was not looking forward to this encounter.

“All right,” Ginny said after several moments of Draco staring her down, “I’ll leave. But I am Flooing you tomorrow morning, and you are telling me everything. Promise me you’ll be there.”

“Fine. I promise,” Draco agreed sulkily.

“Yay!” Ginny threw her arms around him and squeezed. “Love you!” She released him and practically skipped down the hall.

_I need better friends_ , Draco thought to himself. He raised his hand again and was this time able to knock successfully.

“Come in,” called the sweet yet strong voice that Draco knew only too well.

Draco turned the doorknob and entered the tiny room. Sitting behind the unbelievingly messy desk, in dark purple scrubs with the gold St Mungo’s logo emblazoned on them, her long chestnut brown curls pulled into a casual twist at the back of her head, was Hermione Granger.

_Oh Merlin. This is not good_. It had been eighteen months since he had last seen Hermione, and Draco could see that it was definitely several decades too soon, because she hadn’t changed a bit since then. Not that she hadn’t changed from her days at Hogwarts, because she definitely had, and Draco really wished she hadn’t.

Hermione looked so completely at ease upon seeing him that he was almost insulted. “Draco, hi. Please sit.” She indicated the chair in front of her.

“Thank you,” Draco said, sliding into the chair with as much grace as he could manage.

“It’s been a while,” Hermione said pleasantly. “How’s your mother?”

“Very well, thank you.”

His mother. She was the starting point, and probably the cause, of this problem. Four years after the war ended Narcissa Malfoy became extremely ill. Draco had sent for countless Healers; specialists in their respective fields, and nobody could determine what was wrong. Then one specialist in Magical illnesses and diseases suggested that a prominent and intelligent final year student by the name of Hermione Granger should take a look at Narcissa.

And so Hermione had come to Malfoy Manor, looking just as Draco had remembered her. Her hair was still wild and bushy, her clothes drab, business-like and unflattering, her face un-made. Hermione consulted Narcissa for about an hour, and suggested the almost unheard-of possibility that Narcissa had developed a Muggle condition called anaemia. After a lot of persuading and convincing Draco that they weren’t going to cut his mother open, they took Narcissa to a Muggle GP, who referred them to a specialist, who confirmed Hermione’s suspicions. Narcissa had developed a severe case of Haemolytic Anaemia. Finding an effective treatment quickly was vital.

And so for the next year and a half Draco and Hermione worked closely together to make Narcissa healthy again. Hermione had spent that eighteen months living at Malfoy Manor, so that she would be easily accessible should Narcissa need her.

It took several months to discover an effective treatment, and once it was found, recovery was slow. Narcissa had bad days; days where she was barely able to do anything but lie in bed. But as she recovered those days lessened, and Narcissa would get bored. She took a particular interest in Hermione and eventually decided to make the younger witch her special project. She experimented with Hermione’s clothes, hair, face, jewellery, you name it. And bit by bit Hermione blossomed. By the time Narcissa had fully recovered and Hermione was able to leave the Manor, she’d become breathtakingly beautiful. And Draco had fallen head-over-heels in love with her.

Since then he had tried almost ruthlessly to forget her; throwing himself into the dating scene and enjoying the company of all of the pretty young women he could find, but, try as he might, he couldn’t cease his infatuation with the once-enemy that had worked so tirelessly to save his mother’s life. The most he could do was temporarily block thoughts of her from his head. But now upon seeing her again, those thoughts came rushing back.

_Just keep calm_ , he said to himself as Hermione smiled prettily at him. _Just get the information and leave. You’ll never have to see her again after this_.

“So,” Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. “What can I do for you today?”

Draco cleared his throat. “The Minister wished for me to meet with you. I’m doing a report on the state of the main Wizarding institutions in Britain, and you apparently are a good person to ask about the situation at St Mungo’s.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “I’d agree with that,” she said immodestly. “I know about most of the departments here in sufficient detail. One of the advantages of being a lifelong snoop, I suppose.” She grinned, showing a row of perfectly white, straight teeth. Draco wondered how somebody that he had once viewed as remarkably plain could have transformed so much, even if under the hands of his faultlessly elegant mother.

“Yes,” Draco agreed, offering her a tight smile. “So this shouldn’t take long. I’ll ask you a few questions, you’ll answer them, and I’ll be on my way.”

He opened his briefcase and started rummaging around for some parchment and a quill when he heard a quiet “no”.

He looked up to see Hermione’s expression virtually unchanged. Perhaps he was imagining things?

“Did you say something?”

“I said ‘no’,” Hermione clarified.

Draco was confused. “Why not? You seemed perfectly happy to do it before. It’s not going to be difficult—“

“You misunderstand me,” Hermione interrupted him. “I’ll happily answer your questions.” She leaned forward slightly. “But I won’t do it for free.”

“… oh,” Draco said after a pregnant pause. “Well we haven’t paid anybody else that we’ve interviewed, but I’m sure the Ministry could arrange something—“

“I don’t mean a cash payment,” Hermione cut in again. “I’ll tell you everything you wish to know, but only if you take me out for dinner tonight.”

_What_? That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Was she requesting a date? Or maybe she just fancied Italian and couldn’t be arsed to make pasta? Either way, Draco’s discomfort increased ten-fold. Thinking back, Draco thought he would possibly rather face several bloodthirsty werewolves than spend two hours in an intimate restaurant setting with Hermione. At the same time he didn’t see how he could refuse. He needed this information and he doubted he had access to anybody else with knowledge as detailed as hers.

“Why?” he asked, before he could think of anything cleverer to say.

“Pure curiosity,” Hermione answered easily. “You’ve developed quite a reputation with regards to the dating scene. I want to know what all the fuss is about.”

Draco wasn’t sure if he liked having a reputation. He’d hardly call himself a Casanova, but he did have a habit of dating a girl for a few weeks and quickly getting bored. The girls he dated were generally quite nice. Pretty, moderately intelligent, interested in him, and, if he was honest, quite sexually satisfying. But that wasn’t enough for him. All he had ever wanted was Hermione.

Which was precisely why dinner was a bad idea. He’d spent eighteen months avoiding her because he just knew that if he wasn’t _very_  careful he would tell her everything and make a complete arse of himself.

But, again, what choice did he have?

“Deal,” he said, doing his best not to appear annoyed or upset.

Hermione didn’t buy his cover. “No need to look so forlorn,” she said. “I can be quite good company, you know.”

_You’re certainly the only company I’ve ever wanted_.

“I’m sure,” Draco said. “Shall we meet at the hospital entrance at 7 o’clock?”

~*~

_Okay_ , Draco thought, tugging nervously at his jacket, _so maybe it wasn’t a great idea to take her to a fine dining restaurant_. His brain had obviously suffered a temporary lapse when he suggested they go to Lela’s; a classy little place near London’s West End. There were two clear reasons why Lela’s was a bad choice. Firstly, it was a restaurant well-known for having an almost insufferably romantic atmosphere, and more aphrodisiac foods on the menu than Draco dared to think about. Secondly, as a fine dining restaurant it was required that customers dress at least semi-formally. Hence why he was in a two-piece suit, and Hermione, well, Draco’s mother had certainly taught her how to follow the ‘simple yet stunning’ principle to a tee. She was wearing a midnight blue halter neck dress that dropped at the hips, falling to different lengths around her legs and creating something similar to a waterfall effect. The top part of the dress glittered with tiny jewels woven into the fabric. She accompanied this amazing garment with matching heels, a silver tear-drop necklace and silver tear-drop earrings. Simple, yet stunning. Narcissa would be pleased with her.

Draco, however, was not happy. This whole business wasn’t a matter for Draco being shallow. Not at all. Hermione had saved his mother’s life, through patience, intelligence, and something else that Draco dubbed her “passionate fire” that he had not previously known she possessed. He would have fallen hopelessly in love with her regardless of her looks.

Her looks just made it really difficult for him to ignore his attraction.

They had just received their dessert, and Draco had spent the last hour and a half using about 95% of his self-control to stop himself from jumping her, or worse, telling her his disturbing secret.

Across the table, Hermione slid a mouthful of chocolate cake into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully as she considered him.

“Does Narcissa ask about me?” she questioned Draco.

Draco, who had been trying hard not to think about how she licked her lips after every mouthful of cake, didn’t catch what she said. “Sorry?”

“I was just wondering if Narcissa ever mentioned me,” Hermione repeated. She looked shyly down at her plate. “I grew very fond of her, in the end.”

“She was … is … very fond of you as well,” Draco assured her. “She asks about you often, actually.”

“Really?” Hermione appeared pleased to hear that. “I should make an effort to write to her, or to invite her out some time.”

“She’d love that. She’s always trying to find excuses to get out of the house.”

“Hmm.” Hermione took a careful sip of water before returning to her cake. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of… of course,” Draco said hesitantly.

“I’m not… hmm…” she paused, taking a few extra seconds to recollect her thoughts.

“Don’t think that I’m upset, or anything,” she finally said. “I’m not. I’m merely curious.”

“All right then,” Draco agreed.

“OK.” Hermione straightened in her seat. “I was just wondering why you never kept in contact?”

“Oh.” That wasn’t a question that he could truthfully answer. “I, er… well, we see each other around, and so it never really occurred to me.”

“See each other around?” Hermione raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I’ve barely seen you at all, which in itself is strange, seeing how I used to live with you and everything.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed uncomfortably. “I suppose it is.”

Hermione nodded, and then leaned in slightly. Draco automatically leaned in as well.

“I wanted you to owl me, you know,” she said. “I’d check the post every day for a letter from you. I mean, you never promised to write, but I always kind of…” she shrugged half-heartedly, “… hoped you would.”

“I… I see.” Draco didn’t like the intimacy with which this conversation was progressing. Her words were making him start to yearn. He hastily signalled the waiter for the bill.

When he placed his hand on the counter Hermione suddenly grabbed it with both of hers.

“I missed you,” she said, running the tips of her fingers along his pale skin. “I missed you a lot.”

His hand tingled under her touch. Trying to appear inconspicuous, he gently pried his hand away. He regretted it when he saw the hurt in her dark brown eyes.

“Did you miss me?” she asked him.

“Um…” He felt his palms starting to sweat. This was definitely unsafe territory. As much as he wanted to be honest with her, somehow he didn’t think that “I miss you so much that every day I’m not with you is like a day without part of my soul” was a good way to end the conversation. So he settled for a simple “You were lovely company in the house—“

“I think about you,” she interrupted him.

Draco couldn’t hide his surprise at that. “What?”

Hermione glanced back at her now-empty plate. Draco could see faint tinges of red blossoming on her cheeks. She was embarrassed?

“I… I said I think about you,” Hermione clarified. “And… and I do. All the time. It’s been eighteen months, but until yesterday I kept waiting, hoping… that you would owl me, because I was too embarrassed to do it first.”

Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could barely squeak out a “really?” in response to what had to be a serious confession on her part.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. She was staring into his eyes with such intensity that Draco squirmed in his seat. “Really.”

“Your cheque, sir,” the waiter interrupted them. Draco barely glanced at the total before chucking a handful of galleons onto the silver tray.

“So…” Hermione asked tentatively. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Draco didn’t know what he thought. Part of him wondered if this was a dream. Could it be possible that the incomparable Hermione Granger had spent the past eighteen months wanting him as much as he wanted her?

“I think…” Draco shook his head, and then quietly admitted “I think I’m dreaming.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

He looked back up at her. “Because I can’t believe that you could be sitting here, telling me that you have been thinking about me. It’s… it’s too good to be true.”

“Does that mean… do you think about me too?” Hermione asked.

Draco bit his lip. He considered lying to her. He’d been lying to her, and to himself, for so long. Surely it would be a wasted effort if he told her the truth now?

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to lie any more.

“Yes,” he found himself saying. “I do.”

“In what way?” Hermione asked him breathlessly. He felt her reaching for his hand, and this time he grabbed hold of hers impulsively.

“In every way,” Draco said. “I don’t think about anybody else.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. They sat there for several moments, letting what they had found out about each other sink in.

And then Hermione stood up, pulling Draco up with her. She took a step closer to him and he shuddered as he felt her warm breath against his ear.

“Then what are we still doing here?” she whispered.

~*~

It took them about five seconds to Apparate back to Hermione’s small London flat. Another five seconds and they would have been inside, but neither of them could wait that long. As soon as they materialised at Hermione’s door she pushed Draco against it and crushed her mouth against his.

Draco responded eagerly, opening his mouth and running his tongue along her bottom lip. She brought her hands to either side of his head and held him there as they kissed still deeper. His hands found her waist and ran up and down her sides.

They pulled apart for air and Draco stared at her, chest heaving slightly from breathlessness and eyes sparkling with that “passionate fire” that he knew so well.

“Merlin, you are—“

“Shut up,” Hermione ordered, tilting her head to kiss him again. She managed to, without looking, pull her wand out of her handbag and magically unlock the door. She twisted the doorknob and Draco nearly fell over as it fell open for them.

Hermione closed the door and, with more patience this time, brought her hands up to rake through Draco’s superfine, silky blonde hair.

“I love this hair,” she murmured. “So long… I’ve wanted to feel this hair…”

“Good thing you’re doing it now,” Draco murmured back. “It’s receding.”

Hermione chuckled. “Good thing, indeed.” She kissed him again and pulled on his arms. “Come,” she said. Draco walked forwards as she walked back through the small space of her flat. When they reached the end of the hallway she suddenly turned him around and pressed him against their second door of the evening.

“Sorry,” she mumbled against his mouth. “I have a thing for pushing people against walls.” She pulled his head towards her and kissed him again, her other hand working tugging at his shirt, trying to untuck it.

“That’s OK,” Draco assured her. He kissed back, grappling blindly behind him at the same time. His fingers soon made contact with the cool metal of the doorknob and, grinning to himself, he quickly turned it.

“Oh!” Caught off guard, Hermione stumbled into her bedroom. She barely had time to right herself when she heard the door clicking shut and found herself gasping “Oh!” again as she was thrust against the door.

“I like pushing people against walls too,” Draco said. He kissed her fiercely on the mouth before moving to other parts of her face. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, and worked his way down to her shoulder. She sighed and tilted her head back, offering him better access as she brought her hands between them and started undoing the buttons of his shirt. He shrugged the shirt off and she felt his hands pulling at her dress, trying to lift it over her arms. She couldn’t help but smile to herself; that dress was even more of a hassle to take off than it was to put on.

After what seemed like too short a time to her, Draco got bored of the wall and directed her towards the bed, still struggling to remove her dress. By the time they’d collapsed onto the cushion-y mattress Hermione had managed to rid Draco of his tie and belt, but he had had little success with her. He guided her to a kneeling position and tried again to pull the dress at least partway up, still to no avail.

“Were you sewed into this thing?” he asked, frustrated.

“Don’t worry about it.” She took his hands in hers and guided them under the skirt, up her tantalisingly curvaceous thighs, back to her hips, where he could feel the elastic of her underwear. He grinned as he slowly lowered them, and she correspondingly undid and pulled down his trousers and simple black briefs.

“Not a boxers man, then?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow in amusement.

Draco snorted. “If you must know, I like to have support.” He held up the underwear that he had recently acquired. “And I can see that you’re not one for knickers that would be more appropriate to floss with than to actually wear.”

Hermione smiled and shuffled closer to him. Moving slowly, she draped her arms over his shoulders and leaned her forehead against his. Her brown curls of hair fell around them and he breathed in their rosy scent.

“Why spoil the surprise?” she said, bringing their lips together for the first tender kiss of the evening. She manoeuvred him into a lying position and crawled on top of him, taking his prominent erection in her hand. She raised herself up slightly and slowly slid him into her.

Draco sighed, tilting his head back slightly at the satisfying wave of pleasure that engulfed him. She was wet, hot and tight, and as she started moving; rocking back and forth and creating slight nuances of friction between them, he wondered how he could ever have enjoyed sex with anybody else.

It didn’t take long for her to pick up her pace. Draco noticed the change in speed and looked up to see her eyes closed in what appeared to be a mixture of pleasure and frustration. He snuck his right hand carefully under her dress and, after some cautious prodding, managed to find her tiny, but currently slightly engorged, nub of pleasure. Difficult though it was to concentrate, he managed to massage it carefully with his thumb. He smiled to himself as he heard her gasp. As he continued his administrations her gasps quickly gave way to more guttural moans. She started to thrust more violently against him and Draco pulled her towards him to give her a long and lingering kiss.

Hermione greedily accepted the kiss and plunged her tongue into his mouth as she lost control of her lower muscles. After a few more furious thrusts she felt herself exploding with a pleasure so wonderfully intense she wondered how she had gone so long not knowing that it could feel this good. As her orgasm subsided Draco came as well, pulling her towards him and holding her for dear life as he shot his seed directly into her.

Neither of them moved, nor spoke for several moments as they caught their breath. Finally Hermione was able to force herself to roll off Draco and settle next to him, her dress still hitched above her waist.

“We haven’t ruined that dress, have we?” Draco asked softly, turning his head to the side to see her properly.

Hermione grinned and leant forward to kiss Draco for what must have been the hundredth time this evening. She felt that she could kiss him a million times and never grow tired of it.

“Who cares?” she asked, wrapping an arm around his waist. “After all this time, who really cares?”

~*~

Draco woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed to the sound of ringing. He tried to roll onto his side but collided with soft flesh. He felt a hand on top of his head, lightly running its fingers through his hair. Last night came flooding back to him, and he opened his eyes to see Hermione smiling down at him.

“I’d better take this,” she said, offering him an apologetic grimace as she reached for the bedside table and picked up a black contraption with numbered buttons that somebody had once told him was called a telephone.

“Hello?” she said, pressing the Muggle contraption to her ear. “Ginny? Hi.”

Draco stiffened. _Shit_! Ginny was supposed to be Flooing him that morning. If Hermione told her that he was there, he would never hear the end of it.

“Draco?” Hermione was asking. She turned back to him and saw the raw panic written on his face. Her mouth curved into an amused smile and she said to Ginny, “I have no idea where Draco is.”

“Are you positive?” Ginny asked. “I tried to Floo him just now. I was staring at his living room for half an hour and the bastard didn’t answer. He promised me I could Floo him at some point this morning.”

“What did you want to Floo him for?” Hermione asked. Her hand brushed against Draco’s face, past his jawline and down his neck before finally reaching is chest. He placed his hand on top of hers and held it there. She could feel his heart beating.

“Because,” Ginny was saying, “he promised to tell me something.”

“Well can’t you wait?” Hermione asked, watching Draco as he shifted himself into a sitting position. “He surely won’t be long.”

“No I can’t wait!” Ginny squawked, so loudly that Draco could hear her. “He promised he’d be there and he’s not and he’s the lousiest friend I’ve ever—“

“Oh, to hell with this,” Draco grunted. He pulled the phone away from Hermione and, copying her, pressed it against his own ear. “Ginny? I’m here and we’re busy. Go away.”

“Draco!? What in Merlin’s name—“ Draco threw the phone away from him and it landed with a pathetic smashing sound on the floor.

“Hey!” Hermione protested. “Those things are expensive, you know!”

“Sorry,” Draco said. He took her by the waist and pulled her, so she was sitting on his lap. “I just sort of figured, after all this time, who really cares?”

Hermione looked at the phone, then at him. He smiled nervously at her; the smile turning into a grin when she smiled back and grasped his head with both of her hands as she pulled him in for a kiss.

~*~

THE END

 

 

 

 

 


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